School Daze
by Apteryx
Summary: Peter stops a mugging, but does someone, somehow guess his secret ID? *COMPLETED!* Please R&R thanks!
1. On Line

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A/N: This is a short story on an idea that came to me. Probably really dumb, but, you know, got to write when the muse strikes! Let me know what you think…

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 1: On Line

Peter Parker was standing on line. 

As a surprise for MJ, he was buying tickets to a show that she had wanted to see for a while now. The TKTS booth at Duffy Square was being well patronised, and he was starting to think it would be just his luck if he got there and found all tickets sold. The line inched forward at a snail's pace; he'd be here for a long time, waiting. With nothing better to do, he indulged in a spot of people watching while he waited. 

Right in front of him were an elderly couple, who he guessed were tourists, from their style of dress, the walk shoes and the nylon jackets and the serviceable pants and the man's funny cap and their accents – from somewhere in Europe, though he couldn't tell which country. They were quietly making plans about what attractions to visit tomorrow, consulting a guide book and gesticulating with many waves of the hand and nods of the head.

Immediately behind him was a young couple, not paying any attention to anything else around them. The only thing that existed for them at that point was each other. Their very public display of affection would have upset him not so long ago, but now Peter only smiled paternally at them. 

They weren't much older than some of the kids at school, and had much the same fashion sense – he in extremely loose, baggy clothes, and she the opposite, in clothes so tight and showing a far amount of midriff, it was if she had suddenly grown a couple of sizes larger overnight. Peter smiled even more as he imagined it; a sort of She-Hulk thing... 

Behind them, was a young, single woman, dressed in sweats and slightly overweight, with a backpack on her back and reading a magazine, also paying no attention to her surroundings, so captivated was she with her reading matter. Peter tried craning his head around to see if he could figure out what magazine it was, but couldn't do it without being obvious. 

He started making up titles in his head. _The Beekeeper's Apiary Digest. The Hornblower's Historical Hooter. _Or better still,_ The Complete Catalogue of Funereal and Undertaking Accessories, Including Parlour Decorations. _Peter stopped when he caught sight of a figure he recognised a bit further down the line. A kid from school, with his parents. The boy he only knew by sight, but he also knew that he was, not exactly mentally handicapped, or whatever the PC word for it was nowadays, but more just very slow. 

Life couldn't be easy for the poor kid at school, but luckily for him, his denseness also protected most of the barbs thrown at him from penetrating into any sensitive areas of his self esteem. Peter remembered overhearing a remark by the boy's teacher, Mr Kilross; "…a blessing and a curse. Once he gets an idee fixe, there's just no turning him…" 

He studied the boy from a distance. His floppy brown hair hung over a face that was still boyish, but showing signs of the adult he was growing into, his body also seemed rather large and disjointed – here was someone who _had_ almost grown two sizes overnight, and was still unaccustomed to the fit. At the moment, he had a huge smile on his face and was bouncing up and down on his feet in excitement. His parents, out to give their son a treat, wore varying expressions of pleasure, worry and boredom.

Pete turned to see if the front of the queue had gotten any shorter; not by much, there must be some serious haggling going on up there. The elderly man in front had taken a fanny pack from under his taslon jacket, and appeared to be checking their money. Peter groaned inwardly; if he needed any further proof that the couple were tourists, this was it – you just did not count your money on the street like that. 

He was about to tap the man on the shoulder and suggest that he wait until he was at the booth before waving cash about, when he felt the tingling from his spider-sense at the back of his skull. The young woman had dropped her magazine and brushed past Peter roughly, going up to the old man and grabbing his pack. 

"No, no!" he was exclaiming, pulling on the strap, and struggling with his assailant. In response, she growled and pulled out a small, sharp knife from her pocket. 

"Give me it now, dammit! Or I'll stick you…"

She brandished the knife at the old man's chest, while his wife stood, frightened and whimpering.

This has gone far enough, thought Peter, that man looks as though he'll have a heart attack any moment. He couldn't take off and become Spider-Man somewhere – by the time he came back, the old man could be hurt, and the attacker gone. He'd have to tackle her, discretely, as he was, without giving anything away.

Aware that people were watching, even those who didn't want to get involved and were pretending nothing was happening, Peter quickly went up to the side of the attacker, grabbed her knife arm, and twisted it, away from the man, pulling back as he did so.

"If you liked his hat, why didn't you just say so?" quipped Peter.

The woman yelped, and let go of the bag strap in her other hand. Released from the strap, she swiftly pivoted and threw a punch at Peter, who easily ducked, and using the arm he still held, threw her over his shoulder, to land on the pavement with the sound of a collapsed accordion. 

Amazingly, she still held the knife, and gathered herself up remarkably quickly and lunged at Peter. Again, he easily avoided the knife and instead moved closer in to the woman, and with the edge of his hand, gave a short, sharp chop to the point where her neck met the shoulder. She dropped the knife, her arm incapacitated and useless.

She hadn't finished yet – she was mad and swearing madly.

"Look lady, give up now," Peter said mildly, standing casually and hearing a siren coming closer; someone must have called the police after all, "It'll make things a heck of a lot easier for you…" He had been careful not to move too fast, and was holding back in his physical contact, not only due to his secret identity, but also because he still had a thing about fighting women – stupid, but it was one of those things.

The only answer the young woman made was to attack him again, this time aiming a kick at his crotch.

"Oh no you don't!" He caught her foot, and flipped her over again – a standard martial arts move that should raise no eyebrows. This time, she landed hard on the asphalt, and lay there, winded and trying to get her breath back. 

Peter looked up at the crowd that had gathered to watch, turned, and checked on the elderly tourists. "Are you OK sir?" he asked the man. He was shaky still, and comforting his wife who was quietly weeping, but otherwise seemed unharmed. A woman bystander started talking to them gently – a health professional of some kind, thought Peter.

"Fine," he said, "Thank-you for your assistance. Can I reward you?" The old man haltingly said.

"Uh…" Peter shook his head. 

He wanted just to slip away, pull his normal vanishing act; he sure brought attention on himself there, and the police were going to want to get a statement off him, and they might notice a few odd things about him if they checked out his file. He could always give a false name…

"Mr Parker! Mr Parker!"

Peter groaned. Too late for that. 

"Mr Parker, sir!" It was the boy from Midtown High.

He rushed up to Peter, his face shining with enthusiasm, and grabbed him by the arm. His parents were not far behind him. Not unusually, the boy knew the teachers' names more than the teachers knew the pupils'.

"Mr Parker," he said again. He had a particularly loud and carrying voice, "You were so cool! You stopped a robber!"

Peter started to get a bit uncomfortable with the extra attention. "Uh…" he began, but was interrupted by the boy.

"You stopped a robber, just like Spider-Man!"

Oh great. 

"Now, Marc, that's enough of that. You'll embarrass him," his mother spoke up. Marc let go of Peter's arm.

"No, it's all right, the kid's just being a kid, is all," replied Peter, loudly, and hoping any bystanders listening would get the idea. Hoping also, that Marc would forget the incident soon.

Fortunately, two things happened simultaneously – the siren that had been wailing materialised into a police car in the curb in front of them, and the woman had gotten to her feet, and looked as if she were about to flee while the attention was off her.

Peter rapidly stepped away from the boy and his parents and seized the would-be mugger by her arm, holding her until the police were ready to deal with her instead.

Marc's parents dragged him off – Peter could hear his voice fading gradually, still proclaiming "Mr Parker is like Spider-Man!"

Later, after the police had taken the woman away, Peter had stayed to get his tickets. He had missed out on good seats for the performance, but if he'd been after the best seats, he would have bought tickets at full price. He just hoped that Mary-Jane would be happy with them, and that there wasn't a pillar in front of them blocking off half their view. 

Sighing, he shoved the tickets in his jacket pocket and moved out of the line. He had compromised with the police earlier, giving them a half fake name, after all, how many Parkers were there in New York to check? 

As Peter left, he noticed something colourful lying on the sidewalk – it was the magazine the young woman had been reading. As he glanced at the title, he laughed. It was _Budget Living._

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	2. Free Lunch

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A/N: This is a 'slice of life' piece, so not much in the way of action - it is set in the comicverse, in case anyone's confused :)

Thanks for the review! 

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Chapter 2: Free Lunch

Peter sauntered into school Friday morning feeling very happy. Taking MJ to the show had been a success – he had only been five minutes late returning from intermission – and the rest of the evening had been quiet as well, which meant more time spent with his favourite redhead. 

Walking down the hall, his mind elsewhere, Peter didn't notice the chaos, the noise, the trash, the kids - most of them ignored the teachers anyway – and so was brought back to awareness when he heard a familiar voice ring out.

He frowned as his mind slowly repeated to his consciousness what it had heard: "Mr Parker is Spider-Man!" 

Right now, he thought, if I were the roll-my-eyes type, I would be rolling my eyes like anything. It was Marc, who evidentially, _hadn't_ forgotten Thursday's little incident. On seeing Peter again, he had told all within earshot, i.e. the entire hall, his conclusions. Only, a slight adjustment had been made between then and now. 'Like' had become 'is'. 

"Yeah, sure," Peter said, good humouredly, "and Principal Harrington is the Hulk. You wouldn't like him when he gets angry, so get to class, hey?"

Amidst a few laughs, and a few actual eye-rolls, Peter caught sight of Marc, looking not at all put off by his reply. Most of the students about had ignored him – Marc was just, you know, Marc – but a few were taking digs at him. Peter felt a sudden wave of compassion; his smart comment hadn't helped. A little less jaunty now, Peter arrived at his first class of the day.

Wouldn't you know it; Monitor duty. It was lunchtime, and Peter was roaming around the hallways, keeping a eye on the students, making sure their behaviour didn't get too out of hand. He knew that some of the teachers on this duty kept their metaphoric eyes shut, and he didn't blame them. He didn't know who, or what, to blame for what the way things were getting increasingly worse. He used to get picked on as a kid, maybe shoved about a bit, but never this level of violence. He saw far too much of it, and although he did his bit to try and stem the flow, both at school, and in his other job, it seemed as if the cut was getting deeper. At school he had soon learnt who the troublemakers were, and was just as concerned for them as he was the kids they victimised.

Take today, for instance; there was a huddle of teens near the bathroom door, a semicircle that spelled 'fight'. As he came closer, Pete could see that one of the participants was K'so Ortner, a dude who always wore the same hoodie and shades and attitude, no matter what the weather or time of day. 

These kids didn't scatter at the sight of a teacher – they moved over and made room for them too. With a sigh, Peter saw the other person in the fight. It was Marc. 

"Y'so dumb, I cud hit ya, an'ja tink it wor cos a luv ya," K'so was muttering to Marc. The actual physical fighting had obviously yet to start.

"And this coming from someone who mangles his native tongue to such an extent that an interpreter is required," put in Peter, earning himself a ferocious scowl from K'so, and jeers from the other students around.

Marc turned at the sound of his voice.

"Mr Parker, you're Spider-Man. Can you stop him?" he pleaded. 

Pete gazed sternly at both K'so and Marc, trying to ignore the jibes from the other students. "Why don't you go pick on someone who's dumber than you, eh K'so?" he said mildly.

K'so scowled again, and Peter wondered if he had only made things worse. But his face cleared and he grabbed his buddy standing next to him by the sleeve.

"C'mon, s'not worth it," and slouched off, followed in drips and drabs by the disappointed would-be witnesses. 

Peter watched them disperse, relieved and worried. What else had K'so in mind?

"Why didn't you be Spider-Man and stop him?" asked Marc, who had come up beside him.

"Huh?" Yeah, very intelligent response Pete. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" 

He walked on, continuing his rounds, trying his best to pretend that Marc wasn't following on his heels like a devoted puppy. A puppy who wouldn't stop talking.

"…bet it's cool, swinging an' shooting web an' fighting bad guys. And crawling up walls, wow!"

The young science teacher ignored the grins he got from other students, and the smirk he got from Kyle Jacobs as he passed him. He pushed open the doors into the cafeteria, a trip through here was his least favourite part of his school patrol, with sticky food underfoot, the mess on the tables, not to mention the smell. Was it the food, or the teenagers that made it stink? Peter delicately screwed up his nose, then grinned, as he thought of the much worse smells he'd encountered – the sewers beneath the city, for instance. 

Remarkably, things were relatively peaceful in the cafeteria. It wasn't to last.

"Mr Parker is Spider-Man," announced a loud voice behind him, "I saw him stop two fights."

Peter winced, as the jeers started up.

"Yo, Spidey! Show us your webs!"

"Doncha mean 'Klutz-Man'?"

"Yeah riiiight."

"Hey spazzo, go fly."

But there were also a few thoughtful faces; he recognised students from his classes. The band-aids and bruises, the late arrivals, the non-attendances, Spider-Man seen in the school... How long before they started putting together their own little jig-saws? 

Trying very hard not to hurry through the rest of the cafeteria, Peter ignored the cat-calls, but couldn't ignore the stale bread roll that was thrown in his direction. His spider-sense gave him plenty of warning of its approach, but he decided not to duck it – no need to add any more fuel to the fire.

__

Papf. It hit him square on the back of the head and bounced off . Stopping, and touching his head as in surprise, he turned to glance around the room, searching for the culprit. There were so many sniggers, he couldn't pin-point who it was who threw the damn thing. It didn't matter anyway. 

"Next time, use a fresher roll, huh? That way I might get a free lunch out of it," he said in the general direction. The sniggers gave way to giggles – humour defusing the situation. Luckily, Marc kept his mouth shut until they were out of the caf. 

He started berating Peter as soon as the doors closed behind them.

"Why didn't you duck? Why didn't you catch the roll? Spider-Man, you can do that easy."

This was getting tedious. Peter looked at the time – only ten more minutes of this, ten minutes before he could escape into the refuge of his classroom. He debated with himself whether to pull the kid aside and tell him that Spider-Man didn't want everyone knowing who he was, but thought that would probably encourage him more, as would trying to shush him up. No, ignoring it was the best option for now. 

Teaching the afternoon classes, Peter noticed they had a slight undercurrent. He was aware of receiving more looks than usual, and the boredom threshold had been raised, enough, Peter wryly thought, that what he was saying was getting through to a few more students. When the bell rang for the end of the last class and the kids started filing out, Pete overheard a few comments from them as they talked to their friends.

"…too skinny. Spider-Man'll be _built_…"

"That colour does nothin' for ya – clashes with ya tats."

"Geez, it's just some mental kid, get over it already."

"Seriously? Spidey'd be cuter – and single."

'That's just swell,' thought Peter, as he gathered up his own belongings and shoved them into his old brown briefcase, 'the rumour is spreading _and_ growing. Maybe I should have quashed it earlier.' 

Thinking about the day, and the boy who was the cause of the annoyance, Peter strode down the sidewalk, not taking note of his surroundings. He was almost at the subway, when he felt the merest tingle from his spider-sense. He was being followed. 

Curious, the young teacher took a detour from his intended route, and instead headed west. A couple of blocks over, he was still being followed. There were enough people about it would be hard to spot his shadow, even with the classic tying-up-a-loose-shoelace trick, unless…

Peter turned the corner into a less-crowded street. Being careful not to move too fast he walked seemingly unconcerned and waited until he found an opening between buildings. Suddenly, he zoomed into the gap, and rapidly scaled the wall until he was on the roof of the three story building a few seconds later. He peered over the edge.

Down below, standing near the gap, was a figure he recognised and was beginning to be heartily sick of the sight of. 

Marc.

TBC


	3. Ensnarer & Ensnared

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A/N: Wow, thanks for all the reviews, they were great! This story is set in the comicverse, where Peter Parker is a teacher at Midtown High, his old school. 

Sorry about the delay - computer problems. And a bit of tidying up in the story… Anyway, here it is - the next chapter!

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 3: Ensnarer & Ensnared.

"Peter Parker is Spider-Man!"

"Peter Parker is Spider-Man!"

The crowd of teenagers moved forward, closing in on Peter, surrounding him in a circle of excitement. At the forefront was Marc, louder than the rest, and K'so was by his side, differences forgotten as they chanted. A bread roll flew out behind Peter, and hit him in the back of the head – fresh this time, and shortly joined by a stick of butter, a ripe tomato, a slice of cheese and a slice of bologna. Peter flung his arms up to protect his head as the barrage of food continued. He had to get out of here, but how, without harming the students or revealing his powers? One last piece of fruit hit the front of his shirt, a juicy ripe pear, leaving another addition to the mess over his clothes. Something dripped off his hair on to his cheek. He lifted a hand to wipe the sticky liquid away. 

"Watch out, he's gonna shoot some web!" a voice yelled.

"Spider-Man!"

"Spider-Man!"

The howls pounded in Peter's ears, as hands reached out for him, plucking at his clothing. One hand, extra keen, caught hold of the front of his shirt and jerked back. Two buttons gave way under the strain, and suddenly exposed was a black spider perched on black webbing over a blood red background.

"Spider-Man!"

"He _is_ Spider-Man!"

Faces loomed up at him, distorted by their hysteria, bodies pressed in close, hot, and the combined smell of deodorants, perfumes, unwashed clothes and bodies, and the squashed food, made him nauseous. He had to get out… Sweating, suffocating, panicking, he thrashed out and leapt, not caring who saw him.

"Aaargh!"

"Peter, Peter? Are you OK hon?"

"Wha…?"

Peter found himself lying in bed, breathing hard, his sweat making strands of hair stick to his face. He passed his hand over his eyes. "Wheeeeeshh." 

"Peter?"

Even in the darkness of early morning there was enough ambient light for Peter to make out MJ's concerned face next to him.

"I'm all right, I had a nightmare, that's all. It's nothing…"

"You were thrashing about a lot there. Who was it this time; Dr Octopus? Rhino? The Hypno Hustler?" MJ joked, thinking to relax him.

"Ha ha, very funny. No, there's a kid who's got this thing – thinks I'm Spider-Man. I don't know where he got that idea…" Peter found that his heart had stopped thumping now; he was calmer and could find the amusing side. "All Friday he was on my case. I tried ignoring him, but he was worse than a fly after rotten meat."

Mary-Jane cuddled up to him. "He's probably forgotten it now – he's had a whole weekend to forget it."

"Yeah, you're right." He glanced at the glowing red numbers on the clock radio. "It's Monday – a few short hours and I'll be back at the chalkface – or is that the whiteboardface…"

"Silly."

Peter was on time for school this morning – he had one of the dreadful coffees in the staff lounge, before classes started, keeping an eye out for Paul Kinross, Marc's teacher; he wanted to ask him a few questions.

A very tall, ectomorphic figure paused at the doorway into the staff area. He looked, with his long legs and considered gait, like an exotic heron. The sense of exoticism was enhanced by his extremely bright clothing – he had a predilection for saturated hues that had earned him the nickname 'Flamingo'. 

Though Paul Kinross was young, he was a natural teacher and had been assigned the remedial class, along with the special budget granted by the State. His occasional acts of anarchy went down well with his students, but he could always control them and get results if allowed to do things his way. Like the time he made a deal and took all his class out for flying lessons as long as they learnt the required math, geometry and geography that went with it. Not a single student reneged on the deal. 

Peter waved him over. 

"Hey Paul," he greeted, as the tall man folded himself up into one of the low easy chairs.

Paul grinned. "How's it hanging, Spider-Man?"

Peter groaned and dropped his face into his hands. "Let me guess – Marc."

"Yeah, Zieba. Where ever did he get that idea?"

"He saw me help stop a mugging. I guess there are so few ordinary 'heroes' about, that I had to be a super hero, or something. Perhaps someone should tell the spandex brigade though – I'm not a signed up member of their union."

Chuckling, Paul spread his long arms out. "Marc is Marc. He's like a steamroller – very hard to push from his path unless the controls are handled the right way. Which is great if that single-minded drive is focused on school work. If he hasn't developed some new fixation, the best thing would be to disprove this Spider-Man jag conclusively."

"How?"

"Oh, I dunno. Get beaten up. Find Spider-Man and pose with him. Fail to climb walls or something," he remarked off-hand. "Whoa, is that the time? I'd better go prepare."

He rose from the chair and waved a hand at Peter. "I'll work on him too, if it's still a problem – I can't teach him effectively otherwise."

"Thanks."

Peter remained seated, thinking over what Paul had said. Disproving who he was would be no easy matter. He shrugged; no sense worrying about until he had to. 

When he walked into the classroom, the first thing that caught Peter's attention was K'so, sitting slouched behind his desk, hat pulled low, his eyes behind the dark shades following Peter's movements as he made his way to the front of the classroom. 

From the stifled giggles and the ingenious expressions on the students' faces, Peter knew that Friday's fad hadn't been forgotten. The tittering increased slightly as he reached his desk; Peter frowned slightly, and carefully placed his briefcase on the floor beside it. He leaned across the desk using his arms as a support, and eyed his pupils, staring silently at them for one long minute. 

The noise quietened, changed timbre and began again. Expressions also changed; as he looked, he saw students register surprise, disgust, awe even. K'so nodded slightly and his lips twitched. 

"Morning. How many of you remembered the _substance_ of the last chapter we covered while you were in your _element_ over the weekend…" Peter trailed off as he observed the almost unnatural attention he'd got from his students; his teaching wasn't that riveting – had he spilt something down his front, or left his fly undone? 

He glanced down. 

"Oh my lord…" 

Inwardly he cursed the mysterious Ezekiel and his talk of totemic powers – he'd become so inured to spiders, that he had unconsciously accepted the hundred or so that had crawled up his arms and were busy exploring his body. 

Someone had put a lot of work into this prank. And he knew who.

Peter stood straight, making no attempt to brush the spiders off.

"K'so, come up here for a moment, will you?" 

The boy slid out of his chair, thrust his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and walked up to Peter.

"Yo," he said.

A challenge. 

"This is chemistry, not biology." Peter held one of the spiders out on a fingertip and smiled. "But since you have already completed the field work for your next project, you can complete it by writing a report naming all the species here, their distinguishing features, and their natural habitats. I want your report by the end of the week." Peter watched the spider. "I'll give you a head start: this is Salticidae Phidippus…" 

The spider suddenly jumped, landing on K'so's chest, startling him.

"…also known as the jumping spider." 

The class erupted into laughter. 

"That's enough!" warned Peter, "Books out, and read that chapter you neglected. K'so, get your jar or whatever, and get these things off me – spiders are the bane of my life at the moment!"

Grumbling, K'so complied. Peter took the chance to have a few quiet words with him.

"…want help, I'm around, just ask. Oh, and could you possibly ignore Marc Zieba? He's more of a pain than you are at the moment."

He couldn't believe it – was that a smile from K'so? 

That smile was the high point of the day. Word had spread rapidly about the morning's spider incident, and as these things do, the facts became magnified and distorted with each telling. Of course, someone had to tell Marc one of the more fantastic versions – Mr Parker could control spiders and had gotten them to web this kid and start biting him as punishment for not doing his homework. 

Marc took this to heart as further proof, and spent every spare moment he could snatch hanging about outside Peter's classroom; following him, fawning on him and making little speeches at him when he left the room to go to the bathroom or the staff area. A crowd of kids hung about with him, hoping that they'd get a rise out of Parker; man, he was such a geek, this teacher, it'd be fly to see him go postal. 

Even the staff area at the end of the school day was no sanctuary for Peter. The rest of the staff gave him heaps; they had all been the butt of practical jokes, and the relief that it wasn't them this time hung palpably in the air. 

By now, Pete was in a foul mood, though he didn't show it. He joined in with the joke-cracking, but half-heartedly as he set the work up for the next day's classes. Maybe if he took long enough, Marc would have gone home already. If he didn't see his inanely grinning face again, it wouldn't be soon enough.

No such luck; the lanky figure was on his tail again as soon as he stepped out the front doors of Midtown High. Peter didn't have the x to change direction today. Let Marc follow him, see how an ordinary boring high school teacher walked to the subway and caught a train home, the same mundane existence millions of others led.

However, when Marc was still following him as he turned into the street that included his apartment, he finally _did_ go postal.

"Quit following me!" he whirled about and shouted at the surprised teenager. "I've had enough of it. Go inflict your adolescent fantasies on someone else and leave me alone!"

Marc fearlessly moved closer to Peter, and looked him straight in the eye, completely unconcerned about the outburst of anger directed at him.

"Mr Parker sir, don't you like me? I'm a big fan of Spider-Man…"

Peter suddenly turned and ran, not looking back, until he reached the lobby of his apartment building and slammed the street door shut and leant against the inside of it, his head lowered. 

He had almost lost control.

He had almost turned on Marc and hit him. He was shocked, horrified and ashamed at how close he had come to using his strength in thoughtless anger. It certainly wasn't the act of a responsible man…

'If it were Ocky, Rhino or even Spot, at least I could give them a good walloping and get it over with and forget the whole thing - well… maybe _not_ Doc Ock - but I can't do that to an innocent school kid, no matter how annoying he may be. My only saving grace is that I did stop myself in time – and that at the moment no one takes him seriously still.'


	4. My Pal Peter

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A/N: Slightly shorter chapter, but the next will be longer, I promise.

Cheers,

Apteryx.

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Chapter 4: My Pal Peter.

Early that evening, at home having dinner with Mary-Jane before going out on his nightly patrol, Peter told her of his close call that afternoon.

"…and I don't know what to do anymore. I have to think of something before it gets worse. If I could just get Marc to forget his obsession, than everyone else would too."

Mary-Jane was interested. "What did Paul say again?"

"I can't do those! Well, maybe I could jack the first one up somehow, but I don't think he'd believe it for a moment – Marc saw how I handled a mugging and would know I could fight back if I wanted to. I'm sure he'd come away even more certain of his theory…" 

"What if… what if he actually _met_ Spider-Man. You know, 'my pal Peter tells me you think he's me but he's not, I'm me and he's him', sort of thing."

"I'm not sure _I_ can follow that – besides, without me there too, I doubt it would change his mind." Peter sighed. "I know I've fixed it in the past – looks like I might have to call a favour from Hobie, and get him to impersonate Spidey again." 

Picking up the empty plates from the table, Peter took them out to the kitchen.

"Hobie won't be too thrilled," he called out from the other room as he dealt with the dishes. "He wants to put the whole Prowler business behind him now he's got a family; I'll just remind him of it all. Even if he agrees and I manage to set up a time and place, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep my sanity till then. I bet Johnny Storm's glad _he_ never has double identity problems…"

Peter came back out to find MJ still sitting at the table and staring off into space, looking thoughtful. He smiled and waved a hand in front of her face. She came back from where ever she had been, and scowled.

"I _hate_ it when you do that!"

"Lovely dream?"

"Actually, I had an idea…"

"Mm?

"Double identities. You told me once that you had to have a mask under your mask. What if you did the same again? Only, not a mask, just make-up, a disguise… I'm sure I've picked up enough skills to change your appearance temporarily."

Peter lifted Mary-Jane out of her chair and in excitement, spun her high in the air around the lounge, as if he was giving a small kid an 'airplane ride'.

"MJ! That's savage!"

"Thanks… I think. Now put me down already; I'm getting dizzy!"

"I'd forgot that episode about the mask," said Peter, as he lowered MJ gently to the floor, and held her close while she recovered her balance, "I've got such a beautiful, clever, and talented wife…"

They were quiet for a number of moments. Eventually Mary-Jane broke off, and asked Peter, "So, when do you want the make-over?"

"Uh. Does that include a facial massage? Cos I'd settle for another one of those lip massages…"

Mary-Jane pushed him away, laughing at the silly smirk on his face.

"C'mon, when?" she said.

Peter thought out loud. "Now he knows where I live, he's likely to be waiting outside for me tomorrow morning to follow me to school. If I can perhaps way lay him as Spider-Man when he's on his way here, then I can show him my face, send him off, then get back here to clean up before heading off to school myself… Yep, tomorrow morning would be ideal."

MJ slowly smiled. "Fine. I'll wake you in the morning. Now, off you go on patrol, but try not to be too late back."

As he went towards the bedroom to change, Peter wondered about that smile of MJ's. What was she so amused about?

……………………………………………………………………..

"Peter. Peter, hon? It's time to wake up."

"Wha…?" Peter slowly opened his eyes and blinked as Mary-Jane shook him; did he have his eyes open yet? It was still dark. He turned over, burying his head back into his pillow.

"Uh, can't I go to sleep again?… so comfortable…" he murmured.

"Wakey wakey – it's make-up time!"

Peter woke up, properly this time.

"But… it's still night. What time is it?"

"Almost 5.00am…"

"Awww, I only got to sleep four hours ago – this is cruel!"

"It takes at least a couple of hours to do this. Now come on!"

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, Peter was in a chair in front of MJ's dressing table, where she had laid a whole range of odd tools and potions. Peter, his hair held back by a head-band and a towel around his shoulders, eyed them nervously.

"Are you going to need all that?" he asked .

MJ laughed, "Probably. Now, keep still." 

She set to work. Carefully, and taking the time she needed, she glued thin latex forms to his face, gradually changing the shape of his chin and cheekbones. Strips were used to widen his nose – adding a prosthesis to it would change his mask profile too much – and satisfied with that, MJ began painting his face, making it more sallow in complexion. Shading also changed how the light fell on his face, changing the cast of it. Next, she taped over his eyebrows and added false ones, sparser and lighter in colour.

"Oh, before I go any further – here, put these in."

Peter took the little double container in amazement. "Contacts as well? Where'd you get all this stuff from?"

"Oh… a friend in the biz – I told him it's for a costume party," MJ giggled, "I just didn't tell him what the costume was."

Over two hours had been spent in front of the mirror so far. Peter stared at his reflection, intrigued with the changes made to his appearance already. His eyes were a blue-grey, set in a wide, square face; amusingly he thought, like a blond, lantern-jawed hero from the old golden-age comics. 

Or Captain America. 

All he needed now, was the blond hair to go with it...

"Hold still there and close your eyes." MJ suddenly whipped the headband off and attacked him with a can of spray and a comb.

When she had finished, his hair was several shades lighter, a different style, and felt like it had been cemented in place.

"There," she said, satisfied, "that should hold."

Peter turned his head slowly from side to side, still not entirely believing the stranger he saw in front of him was himself. "Do you like blondes, or something?" he asked MJ, teasing. 

"Only when I'm married to them."

He smiled, finding it a bit difficult with all the stuff on his face. 

"How'm I gonna get all this gunk off? I still have to go to school, but not as my third identity. I think I'll call him 'Hank'. He looks like a 'Hank' to me. Hi Hank! Hi Pete."

Laughing, MJ removed the towel from his shoulders and started to tidy up her dressing table. "Here's some solvent for the latex, and cold cream for the make-up. The hair dye will wash out, it's only a one-off application."

"Okay." Noticing the time, he jumped up and grabbed MJ and gave her a squeeze good-bye. "I'll let you know how it goes. Meanwhile… Spider-Hank is on the job!"


	5. Five Gallons of Carrot Juice

**A/N:** Here it is! Final instalment of School Daze. Thanks all for the reviews, and I hope you like this chapter just as much!

Oh, and I realised I hadn't posted a disclaimer with this story, so here it is:

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DISCLAIMER: This piece of writing uses characters copyrighted by Marvel, without permission. This material is used for the purposes of non-profit entertainment, and is not intended to interfere with Marvel's right to use said characters for their own commercial goals.

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 5: Five Gallons of Carrot Juice.

It was amazing how much more positive he felt about the whole situation now that he was taking action to remedy it. As he climbed out of the side window and leapt for the roof, he hoped Marc wasn't far away - he didn't know how long the make-up job would stay intact under his mask… But sure enough, as he had surmised last night, Marc was around the corner, hanging about, and obviously waiting for Peter Parker to make an appearance. Spider-Man crouched on the ledge of a building, watching. He had to get Marc somewhere where he could reveal his 'identity' without a crowd of curious bystanders looking on.

'Aaaaand… Action!" 

Spidey swept down on a long strand of webbing, gathered a very surprised Marc up from the sidewalk, and swooped back up on another webline before any commuters had a chance to even think about becoming a crowd of bystanders.

"Spider-Man!" exclaimed Marc happily, as they shortly after came to a halt atop a building – it was one of the taller blocks in the neighbourhood, and one of the few without extra modifications such as rooftop gardens or 'rooms'.

"That's my name – don't wear it out." Spider-Man remarked as he placed Marc on his feet. He didn't seem at all frightened – his eyes shone with adulation at seeing his hero at such close quarters.

"Mr Parker!"

"Who?" Spidey pretended to be puzzled for a tad. "Oh, Pete! No, he's the one who contacted me, asked me a favour. He wants you to stop following him…"

"But Spider-Man… You _are_ Mr Parker. You talk as if you're two different people." Marc was genuinely confused – Spidey was certain he could see the cogs turning as he tried to figure it out.

"We are two different people."

"You're the same," he said with slightly more conviction, "Mr Parker _is_ Spider-Man." 

"Sheesh, no wonder Pete was going spare. Look, kid, I am _not_ Peter Parker. Pete is this skinny, weak, clumsy type, and I'm this skinny, strong, heroic type with the proportionate strength of a spider. Any resemblance is purely coincidental."

"But you _are_!"

Spidey sighed. This was still going to be tougher than he had anticipated. Well, time for the _piece de la resistance_…

"What do I have to do to prove it – get Parker up here too? He's busy playing at school teaching. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be in school?"

"No. Yes, uh, not yet, I mean. I wanted to see Mr Parker, because he's Spider-Man."

"Hmm, One track mind. Not related to the Rhino, by any chance?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. OK, how 'bout we do a deal. To help my buddy Pete, I'll show you my face, and in return, you'll leave him alone. Deal?"

"Deal," replied Marc, confident still that he was right.

Very carefully, so as not to disturb his make-up, Spider-Man slowly pulled his mask off his head, and stood there almost holding his breath as he waited to observe the teenager's reaction.

He looked comically astonished; his mouth dropped open, and his eyes bulged out. Peter noticed his large hands patting the air in front of him, as if independently trying to take in the information.

"Y- you're not Mr Parker!"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, you big lunkhead!"

Marc screwed up his face in thought. "If you're not Mr Parker, who are you?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you my name – secret identity and all that, you know. Now you've seen my real face, you'll lay off Peter Parker?"

"Oh yes!" exclaimed Marc, his face clearing now that he'd accepted what he'd seen. "You aren't Mr Parker, you're someone else," he said happily.

"Yep, that's me – Mr Someone-Else." Peter pulled his mask back on, happy himself now that he knew that the big lumbering steamroller that was Marc's mind had been nudged on to a different road. 

"What school do you go to kid?"

"Midtown High. Why? Are you going to visit me there?"

"No. I'm going to make sure you get there. No using me as an excuse for slacking. C'mon, you can hitch a ride with me."

Spider-Man thoughtfully deposited the boy a block away from the school building, with an admonishment: _Don't tell anyone_, hoping that by the time he appeared on the scene again as Peter Parker, Marc would have spread the tale of his adventure far and wide. 

Stripped to his waist in a small staff bathroom, his wet hair dripping down his neck and back, Peter stood in front of the mirror scrubbing at his face. The dye had come out of his hair easily enough, but what ever the stuff was that MJ used to colour his face was leaving a stain; he looked as if he was suffering from a mild case of jaundice. He had to hope that no one noticed, especially not Marc.

"Carrot juice," he mumbled under his breath, "I drank five gallons of carrot juice last night…"

A few minutes later, Peter emerged from the bathroom, a respectable, if slightly yellow, high school teacher on his way to class. He got one or two sidelong glances from students as they busied themselves at their lockers getting ready for class, but no comments. Not even one of the Spider-Man comments he'd been fielding constantly the day before. 

He paused outside the door of the room, his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath and entered. 

The classroom was not yet even half full; the final bell hadn't rung, and most students waited until the last possible moment before taking their seats and being present in body at least. Peter unobtrusively and carefully inspected his desk before turning his back to it and starting to write up some notes on the blackboard. He checked the clock – still a few minutes before class started. 

"Yo."

Peter put the piece of chalk down and absently wiped the chalk dust off his fingers on the side of his trousers. The voice was K'so's. He shoved some papers into Peter's hand, pretending he wasn't standing up at the front of the classroom voluntarily and actually speaking with the teacher.

"What can I do you for, K'so?"

"I got the 411 on de spiders fer ya," he said quietly. He indicated the papers with a small movement of his head. "I went to de libr'y an' all," he continued, a bit louder and more confidently, "found dis bruisin' book wit da _worst_ pictures."

Scanning the papers, Peter found that K'so had carefully written out the details he'd asked, and had even drawn some of the spiders in a stylised graphic manner. 

Surprised, he said, "Good work K'so, well done. And ahead of time too."

K'so gave another of his rare smiles. 

"I'm gonna… you right, spiders are massive. I'm gonna be a et-y-mologist when I leave dis place."

Peter smiled back. 

"You have the makings of an entomologist in you – I'm afraid an _etymologist_ is far beyond your ken. You're serious about this?"

Taking off his shades, K'so met Peter's eyes and nodded.

"Serious, man."

Taken suddenly by the different sort of responsibility he faced here, that of being a mentor and helping a young person follow his ideals, Peter almost felt weighed down with it; but he'd done this before with other kids – Hobie Brown came to mind - more misguided than K'so had ever been, and seen them make something of their lives too. Surely this particular responsibility was part and parcel of being a teacher.

"That's great – go for it. If you want any help, or to talk or anything, well, you know where I am."

K'so slipped his shades over his eyes again, and shrugged. "Yeah…" he mumbled.

"Try to contain your excitement – someone might see."

Snorting in amused derision, K'so made his way back to his seat at the back of the room, as a sudden influx of students burst in just ahead of the bell. 

Classes that morning were the standard mix of imparting knowledge to the few, and trying to keep the attention of the many. There were the same whispered conversations and giggles, but none of it directed towards him, Peter knew. At the back of his mind while teaching, he wondered what effect this morning's meeting with Spider-Man was having on Marc; perhaps he should have a word with Paul and find out.

In the end, he didn't have to do that. 

Marc sought him out at lunch break, waiting outside the science lab's door while he finished cleaning up after an experiment with one of the students who was actually interested in chemistry. 

When Peter saw who it was, he sighed, and braced himself for the worst; he didn't have to go through all that rigmarole _again_, did he?

Glancing about him almost furtively, Marc sidled up to Peter, and started whispering to him. Well, what was a whisper to him was more like a loud conversation with extra hissing to others. To Peter, it was worse than the Lizard's sibilant speech, and had the opposite effect to that Marc intended. A crowd of students quickly gathered around to listen – pretending to be engaged in their own activities whenever Marc looked in their direction.

"Missster Parker," he hissed, "I have ssssomething to tell you; sssomething ssssecret."

He grabbed at Peter's sleeve. 

Peter kept his face neutral as he answered.

"What is it now Marc? More of your nonsense that I'm Spider-Man?" 

Opening his eyes wide in mock indignation, Marc exclaimed, "No!" Then in a slightly quieter voice – back to his whispering – he continued. "No. Missster Parker, you're not Ssspider-Man. He told me he'ss not you. You don't look anything like Ssspider-Man. I've _ssseen_ him. Without hisss massk. You're not him. He'sss a whole lot better looking than you are."

"Well thanks a lot. I'll have to tell my wife that; she'll be thrilled."

There was a tittering from the surrounding group.

"It's true! I _have_ seen Spider-Man without his mask. He's shown me…" Marc stopped his whispering in his agitation.

"How'd you know it's not someone pretending to be Spider-Man, huh? Someone's having you on." A popular student spoke up; a girl whose dress style was very influenced by manga.

She's right, thought Peter, someone _was_ having him on. But he wasn't about to tell Marc that.

"I saw him web-swinging. He swung me to school on his webbing." Marc protested. "I kept a bit, but it's gone now…" he added sadly.

In the midst of general derision, Peter touched Marc's shoulder. 

"I believe you. But keep it to yourself, eh? Thousands won't. Now, I believe Mr Kinross has been trying to teach you something for the last couple of days. Hadn't you better see him and find out what it was?"

"Yes Mr Parker!" Marc raced off down the hall, leaving the others who started to dissipate as they realised that no more sport was to be had in this spot. Peter gained a couple of strange looks from those slower to move off, including Jen the manga girl, who gave Peter a particularly long and striking look.

Peter shrugged. "What?" he said to her, acting dumbfounded, "If he wants to believe it, let him. No harm in it." Not now, he added to himself.

"That's cruel, Mr P. Marc can't help it."

Damned if I do, damned if I don't, thought Peter.

"Look, nothing I could say would make him believe differently anyway. At least if he keeps quiet about it, he's not going to be as hassled by the rest of you lot."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that." She lowered her eyes for a second, then looked back up at Peter. "Do you think he's right? _Did_ he really meet Spider-Man?"

There were only a few students in the hall now, passing through on their way to their lockers, or to the cafeteria or outside to eat their lunch. None were paying any attention to the teacher and the lone student.

Peter leaned closer. "Anything's possible," he replied, and walked away whistling, towards the staff lounge.

………………………………

Spider-Man threw himself feet-first to land, crouched, on the edge of a fire escape and peered around as he scanned the area for trouble, and took the chance also to take a breather from his patrolling. He smiled under his mask as he remembered his earlier conversation with MJ.

He had gone home from school that afternoon more cheerful than he'd been for a while. Mary-Jane was back already from one of her assignments.

She looked up as he entered, placing her PDA carefully on the table, and grinned at him.

"I don't need to ask you how it went; I can tell." She wrapped her arms around Peter's waist. "You've never been very good about disguising your feelings."

"Strange, for someone who has to wear a disguise as part of his work…"

"One of the things love about you."

"And who wouldn't?" Peter grinned back, and proceeded to thank MJ for her work that morning.

"I'm glad Spider-Hank worked out for you then," MJ said a couple of minutes later when she had got her breath back.

"Yeah, but I'm retiring him – he's no good for my complexion."

Mary-Jane laughed, the most wonderful sound to Peter.

Spider-Man stood, leapt and shot out a web line in one fluid motion, and chuckled to himself as he swung off, remembering MJ's next utterance.

"How about taking me to a show this weekend, Tiger?" 

__

The End.

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